Watch the river: it’s a torrent downstream.
A fluency of tongues
penetrates and liquifies
this liminal umbral.
She expands and swells
like a wild pregnant animal
and climbs steep embankments
towards the city above.
Sparrows and herons fly
through the light mist
with wind blue on the wing
they drift up, move away.
In the humid night air
your voice meanders
around
then right through me,
although the day we met
may yet disappear.
Oleander washes the evening
softly awake and fragrant
while distinct, floating voices
distract our six senses.
Crowds of rocks settled
down on the bottom
don’t move easy
under acres of water.
If a flood comes strong and fast
stones may tumble and roll,
our time together
solid but weightless
as a cloud of green feathers
or grain of fools’s gold.
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